


Avengers Ballet Theatre

by herxndale



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 05:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13474908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herxndale/pseuds/herxndale
Summary: An Avengers ballet AU.





	Avengers Ballet Theatre

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This piece contains strong language. Read at your own discretion. 
> 
> [ links/sources are at the end of the chapter ]

Standing in the right wing, cheek pressed against the rough black cloth of the curtain, Bucky watched as his two star dancers began to crack and dissolve like fine glass beneath the blinding lights of the stage. Natalia’s fiery red hair blazed against the blue backdrop but her smile was stiff. The elegant Balanchine choreography had lost its graceful fluidity; her movements were too sharp, too intentional. Barton’s arms were tense and lacked their usual grandeur, his fingertips falling out of sync with Natalia’s as he guided her across the stage.

It was during Natalia’s bourrées upstage -- her face angled towards Barton’s as she slowly soutenued around -- that Bucky saw the smallest tremor in her crimson lips. Bucky clenched his jaw to refrain from shouting something unpleasant.

The esteemed principal dancers of Avengers Ballet Theatre -- his most accomplished pupils and contemporaries -- were having a goddamned argument onstage.

Most performers were at least mildly proficient at ventriloquy and could minimally communicate with their partners without ever moving their lips. But in all his years of performing and instructing, Bucky had never met anyone who could hold a ventriloquized conversation as long as Natalia Romanova.

Her gaze briefly met caught Bucky’s and he widened his eyes emphatically with a silent warning.

She made her way back to Barton, his grip tight on her waist. Bucky felt his prosthetic fingers curl into a fist as he watched Natalia and Barton continue to bicker through their teeth.

This had been the worst performance season the company had ever seen; tickets weren’t selling like they used to and the critics were starting to take notice of it. The reviews were the harshest they’d been since the company first opened, and after tonight they would surely get worse.

Natalia’s ankle wobbled during her series of turns; the fumble was so slight it was almost imperceptible, but Bucky noticed, meaning someone in the audience had too.

There was a smattering of applause as the music faded and the next song began, but Bucky wasn’t clapping. As Natalia walked past the wing he was in, Bucky made a zipping motion across his lips and she rolled her eyes, her smile now turned into a scowl.

When she turned to face the audience once more, she was beaming.

***

Natasha wasn’t even three minutes into _Sylvia_ ’s twelve-minute pas de deux and she already wished it was over. Barnes kept shooting her murderous glares from backstage, but Nat didn’t care. This performance had been doomed from the moment the curtains opened; with her popularity in the press declining and every critic calling for her retirement, it didn’t really matter how she ended the season. They all wanted her gone from the company anyways.

But she wasn’t upset about her own reviews. Not now, anyway. She didn’t plan on retiring anytime soon. Clint, on the other hand…

“You can’t do this,” she grit out around her broad smile as she piqué’d into his arms.

“Yes,” he hissed, “I can.” Natasha lowered her leg abruptly. “And I will,” Clint added before taking a large step back.

“I can’t believe you,” was all Natasha could think to say as she took his hand. She could feel her plastered-on smile slipping. Her scarlet lipstick felt dry, her breath stale. Everything about this performance felt as fake as the exaggerated lashes clinging to her eyelids.

Clint had been talking about leaving the company for years, but Natasha had never thought he’d actually do it. He always complained about splitting his time between the city and his farm, but she knew he couldn’t stand the quiet of the countryside. He had become a dancer for a reason: the constant movement and adrenaline of performing.

But he was already so much older than most male ballet dancers. He had a wife and two -- soon to be three -- kids that he hardly ever got to visit. He wanted to be a part of his family’s life. He wanted to go to Cooper’s soccer games and watch Lila’s school plays; he didn’t want to hear about them secondhand on Facebook. There were too many renovations that Clint had planned and there weren’t nearly enough nights where he got to sleep with Laura in his arms.

What he wanted was to go home. Instead, Clint felt Natasha’s breath skim his cheek as she urgently whispered, “You can’t leave me here alone.”

“You won’t be alone,” Clint argued, “You’ll have Steve.”

Natasha shot Clint a dirty look for a brief second while her back was to the audience. “I don’t want Steve.”

“Too bad.”

“After everything I’ve done for you,” she snarled, “ _This_ is how you repay me.”

Natasha could tell by the furious spark in Clint’s eyes that she’d taken things too far. His passive smile morphed into a grimace as the orchestra faded out. The applause sounded distant as Natasha took her bows, her heart hammering in her throat. She desperately tried to catch Clint’s gaze, but he refused to look at her.

Suddenly nauseous, her stomach a mess of tangled knots, Natasha ran offstage.

***

Bucky’s blood boiled in his veins, his heart pumping pure, undiluted rage. His best dancers -- _America’s_ best dancers -- were treating their own performance like it was a goddamn joke. He expected better of them.

He expected better of Natalia.

As the red haired hellcat ran off the first wing, Bucky swiftly stepped forward and snatched her wrist with his prosthetic hand, yanking her into the crossover.

“Ow!” She whisper-yelled, struggling to rip her arm free. He released her and she immediately brought her hand close to her chest, cradling it gently. “Jesus, Barnes, you’re a lot stronger than you realize.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you and Barton tonight,” Bucky demanded, his voice low and direct.

Natalia scowled. “That’s none of your business.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” Bucky snapped. “You’re out there making a joke of my company --”

“ _Your_ company?” Natalia laughed humorlessly. “Last I checked it was Stark’s name on all the paperwork, Stark’s portrait on the theatre walls. You’re still the same sniveling little boy from Russia, too ashamed to be seen in public after --”

Bucky surged forward on instinct, cutting off her words. With his forearm roughly pinning her to the wall, Bucky breathed, “Don’t you ever speak to me like that again.” Natalia’s chin remained high, her icy gaze steady. Bucky pressed against her harder. “ _Understand_?”

“I have a performance to finish,” was all Natalia said, her voice cold and brittle.

Bucky stumbled away from her, his breathing ragged. She adjusted her hairpiece and stalked toward the stage without a backward glance.

***

The instant the curtains were closed, Clint stormed offstage.

Natasha dashed after him, shoving past Barnes and the others. During her final variation with Clint she had murmured several _I’m sorry_ ’s, but he had never replied, or even made eye contact for that matter.

She elbowed her way through the green room to the dressing rooms, where Clint was struggling to single handedly take off his vest. Natasha reached out as if to help him, but he stepped away, wriggling out of the stiff, sequinned fabric by himself. He hurriedly began unbuttoning the sheer, white dress shirt with billowing sleeves, completely ignoring Natasha’s presence.

“Clint,” she said softly, her hands hovering anxiously above her tutu.

He tugged on a black t-shirt, making his gelled hair stick out in every direction. Yanking on some sweatpants over his tights and shoving his feet into a pair of battered sneakers, Clint grabbed his bag and car keys and pushed past Natasha.

Jogging to keep up, Nat called out, “Aren’t you at least going to wash off your makeup?”

“No,” Clint growled, speeding up his steps.

“But,” Natasha sputtered, “Ballet etiquette --”

“Fuck etiquette.”

“Clint,” Nat said, her voice desperate, “ _Please_.”

Clint paused, his hands flat against the heavy metal door.

Nat’s pointe shoes echoed on the tile floor, her tutu bouncing as she edged closer. Swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill, she begged, “I’m sorry, okay? Just please, _please_ don’t leave me.”

Whirling around, brows drawn together furiously, Clint shouted, “Stop doing that! Stop trying to fucking guilt trip me, Natasha! It won’t work!”

Now the tears did start to fall, and Natasha angrily wiped them away with the palm of her hand. “So you’re just going to throw away thirteen years of your life for -- for what, a chance to _settle down_? I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit! You and I both know you hate that fucking farm; you can’t sit still for more than a goddamn hour!”

Clint was shaking his head, his expression twisting with every word. Natasha continued: “I sacrificed _everything_ for you, Clint! _Everything_! I didn’t put my entire fucking career on the line just for you to walk away!”

“I made sacrifices too!” Clint cried, his voice filling the hallways and making Natasha wince. “I gave up on having a _family_ so that I could dance with you!” He gestured wildly to articulate his frustration, the keys in his hand jangling.

Natasha staggered away, placing her hand on the cinder block wall for balance. “I can’t believe this,” she muttered more to herself than to Clint. Blinking up at him furiously, Nat shouted, “ _I_ was your family, Clint! _Me_ ! I have _always_ been there for you! Always!”

Clint continued to shake his head in disbelief. He turned and shoved through the door, stomping out into the parking lot. Despite her pointe shoes, Natasha followed him onto the pavement.

“Please,” she implored, “I know I’m hard to work with but _please_ I’ll do anything --”

“We both knew this day was coming,” Clint interrupted. “I’m an old man, Nat! I can’t keep up anymore.”

“Alessandra Ferri was dancing at age fifty-three.” Natasha knew she was grasping at straws now, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t just let him leave. She couldn’t.

Clint sighed heavily, unlocking and opening the door to his car. “Yeah, and Vaslav Nijinsky retired at twenty-nine,” he pointed out, suddenly exhausted from all the arguing.

“That’s because he had a mental breakdown,” Nat muttered.

Raking his fingers through his hair, Clint said softly, “And maybe this is my breakdown, Natasha. We had a good run together, but it’s time for me to go home.”

“Clint --”

“I’ll call you, okay?” With that, Clint got into his car, slamming the door shut and pulling out of the parking lot.

Natasha watched as his taillights faded into the distance. She shivered, wrapping her arms around her torso.

She was alone. Alone with Barnes and the rest of the shitty company.

***

Bucky sighed against the window of the cab, his breath fogging the glass as the neon lights of the city slowly slid by.

The show had been a disaster -- hell, the entire season had been a disaster -- and the critics were going to have a field day reporting about it tomorrow. He considered briefly what would happen if he quit the company, turning his back on the world of ballet forever. He quickly shook off the thought, his imagination conjuring up the sad picture of Bucky working behind the counter of a coffee shop. No, he couldn’t escape dance. It was too ingrained into who he was.

His mind then turned to Natalia and their exchange backstage. Every time he saw her face there was a vague shadow of fuzzy memories lurking somewhere just out of reach. He knew she had danced opposite him at the Academy, but there was a piece of the puzzle still missing. He wondered what Natalia saw when she looked at him, if all she remembered really was a scared little boy.

Bucky called out to the cabbie, redirecting him away from downtown and toward Natalia’s apartment instead. Although he hated to admit it, Bucky spent a lot of time at that brownstone building. Sometimes he would linger outside on the sidewalk, peering up at Natalia’s window and wondering about the past. Other times, he was invited in.

Ringing the buzzer, Bucky waited for the door to click open. After climbing the steps to the fourth floor, he knocked gently on the Natalia’s door.

Natalia was wearing a tattered bathrobe when she answered the door, her red hair wet and limp around her shoulders, a cigarette dangling between her pale fingers and a cloud of smoke obscuring her face. “Barnes,” she said curtly in lieu of a proper greeting.

“Miss Romanova,” he replied. Natalia blinked at him slowly, taking a long drag on the cigarette and puffing out a steady stream of smoke.

“Would you like to come in?” She said at last.

“Please,” Bucky said.

She stepped aside, allowing him to pass, and softly shut the door. Bucky was always surprised by how baren the apartment was, how empty the off-white walls were. She had no photographs or paintings, or any other objects of sentiment. The wooden floorboards creaked underfoot yet there was no carpet to muffle the noise; even the bed only consisted of white sheets and a brown, moth-eaten blanket.

One of the windows was open to try and let out some of the smoke from Natalia’s cigarette, but mostly it just made the room cold. Bucky moved to close it, and Natalia didn’t argue. She just sat down on the couch, pulling her feet up with her so she was curled up like a cat.

“What brings you here so late at night?” She asked.

Bucky shrugged, silently joining Natalia. “Curiosity,” he answered.

Natalia breathed out another hazy cloud. “If you’re wondering about what happened tonight… I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s eyebrows pinched with concern as he noticed the redness in Natalia’s eyes and the puffiness of her cheeks. “Have you been crying?”

She sniffled, wiping her face with her sleeve. “I’m sorry, I’m just --” She let out a shaky sigh. “Clint’s quitting.”

“Quitting?” Bucky wasn’t sure he quite understood.

Natalia nodded. “Yeah,” she said miserably, “He said he’s getting too old. Said he wants to spend more time with his family.”

Bucky scrubbed a weary hand over his face. “I guess… I guess next season we’ll just have to put you with Steve.”

“Yeah,” Natalia said, but her voice lacked conviction. Then she looked at Bucky sideways, mischief in her eyes. “Or maybe you could finally make your debut in America.”

Bucky glanced over sharply. “I haven’t danced on a stage in over a decade,” he said, breath catching in his throat.

“Exactly,” Natalia said definitively, standing up and stubbing out her cigarette. “It’s about damn time you stopping hiding behind your teacher’s position.”

She shuffled into the kitchen, leaving Bucky to mull over what she had just said. She pulled out a bottle of red wine and uncorked it, setting two glasses on the counter. She poured one glass then paused, lifting her eyebrows at Bucky. “You staying the night?”

Bucky nodded and Natalia grinned, pouring the second glass.

**Author's Note:**

> Links & Sources:
> 
> Sylvia - Pas de Deux (American Ballet Theatre)  
> About _Sylvia_ : American Ballet Theatre; Wikipedia  
> About Alessandra Ferri: [American Ballet Theatre](http://www.abt.org/dancers/detail.asp?Dancer_ID=25); [Royal Opera House](http://www.roh.org.uk/people/alessandra-ferri)  
> About Vaslav Nijinsky: [Britannica](https://www.britannica.com/biography/Vaslav-Nijinsky)


End file.
